


Redecorating

by trickztr



Series: Simon and Raphael's adventures in parenting [2]
Category: Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 14:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6858301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trickztr/pseuds/trickztr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raphael gets home to an improptu redecorating of his casket. </p><p>Written for the tumblr prompt: "it could be worse".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redecorating

As soon as Raphael gets home, Simon rushes in, rubber gloves on and rattles off:

“Okay, before you get pissed, know that it’s already taken care of. I mean, mostly taken care of. It’s practically gone now, so, really, it’s not like it’s any reason to get angry or anything.”

Raphael clenches his jaw. “What happened?”

Simon laughs, nervously, and points at him. “Funny story! You know how Miguél is so grown up now that he’s just running around the house all the time? You were so stoked when he took his first steps. Lots of pictures, abd there's that video--”

Raphael raises an eyebrow. “Get. To the point.”

“Well, turns out he’s inherited Clary’s artistic abilities? It’s all our fault, we should’ve figured that might happen, since she birthed him and all, but on the plus side, we should be proud! Our son is a prodigy. And honestly, who can say that about their kids?”

“Simon.”

“Okay, fine!” Simon sighs. “Miguél…redecorated your casket.”

Raphael’s fangs pop up. “You let him do what?”

“I didn't _let_ him do anything. I was in the kitchen fixing him some lunch and I should’ve figured something was up, he’s never that quiet… Anyway, I called for him and he showed up giggling–you should’ve seen it, it was actually adorable–, his tiny hands covered in paint.”

“Simon,” Raphael pinches the bridge of his nose. “I leave you alone with him for a couple of hours–”

“But maybe this is historical moment, you don’t know!” He stammers out, defensively. “Maybe twenty years from now, when he’s, like, this super famous artist, we’ll both look back on this day and be, like, ‘ah, yes…remember how Miguél used to draw on our caskets when he was a baby? Such talent, so young…’”

“Just… Stop talking. Show me.”

\--

Simon wasn’t lying. His golden casket was mostly clean by now, but there were obvious signs of a paint war in various colors on its side.

He’s about to chastise Simon when Miguél comes running towards him. He clearly found the paint pots again, because his tiny hands grab Raphael’s pants and leave red and blue handprints on his black trousers.

“Dada!” And his son buries his little face on the side of his knee. Raphael was angry, he remembers that, but when he picks up his little boy in his arms and is rewarded with a wet kiss on the cheek, he honestly can’t remember why.

“You’ve got paint on your neck,” Simon says softly.

Raphael smiles at him. “It’s fine. I think the colors give the casket a little personality, don’t they?”

Simon shrugs, his boyish grin spreading over his lips. “Well, it could be worse.”


End file.
